


WE ARE KINGS

by marriedtheghost



Category: One Direction (Band), The 1975 (Band)
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriedtheghost/pseuds/marriedtheghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So who was it tonight?” he asks, popping the buttons on Harry’s shirt, starting from his throat. </p><p>“Producer,” Harry answers, throwing one leg over Matty’s waist to straddle him. “Didn’t have time to get me off before he had to go home.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Harry’s already shrugging out of his coat and shirt when it’s halfway unbottoned, rocking back so he’s sitting right atop Matty’s dick. “Had to get home to his soon to be husband,” he says, rolling his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	WE ARE KINGS

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know!! this doesn't make a lot of sense! it was supposed to be a rent boy au, but then it (d)evolved into this. harry has his sugar daddies and then comes home to matty and their dingy little flat, or something. whatever!!! 
> 
> i didn't beta this so sorry for any mistakes.

There’s a new tattoo placed low on Matty’s left hip when Harry gets home, and his eyes are drawn to it even as he struggles with getting his keys out of the lock. It’s stifling in the tiny flat like the heater must be on the fritz again, so it’s always ice cold or a goddamn Sahara Desert, and Harry does a complicated maneuver with his arms full of bags in order to rid himself of his scarf. It’s a bit like a pirouette if a pirouette was just a spastic twist, and the scarf falls in a puddle by the door he kicks shut.

“You’re home early,” Matty says, lifting his head off the bed for a second before letting it flop back down, hair everywhere. Everybody always gives Harry shit for his, but Matty’s is so much wilder it’s almost unfair. “Not go well?”

“Nah, was brilliant.” He drops the takeaway bag and his keys onto the table and deposits the others by his side of the bed before flopping onto it, level with Matty’s hip about halfway down. It’s just a shitty full size mattress on the floor, but it’s piled high with foam pads and down comforters that Harry’s bought in lieu of an actual bed. It’s the most comfortable thing he’s ever slept on. 

He shuffles in for warming purposes and pokes delicately at the skin around Matty’s new tattoo. “I like that. Who did it?”

“Freddie.”

Harry doesn’t know a Freddie and he’s pretty sure Matty doesn’t either, but he keeps his questions to himself. They’ve done alright with money this month so far, so a bit of a splurge on new ink done by someone who does it professionally and doesn’t just have a spare kit lying around and a free afternoon isn’t such a big deal. Harry’s pretty sure it was professional, anyway; there’s even plastic over it and everything.

“I think it’s infected,” Harry says, leaning in close and squinting. “It’s all red.”

“Supposed to be,” Matty sniffs. “Red ink, donut.”

Harry’s pretty sure it’s not meant to be _that_ red, but he is still a little bit drunk, so he doesn’t say anything. He flips onto his back and tips his head back, peering up at Matty all hazed in smoke from his cigarette. There’s a rule about not smoking in the apartment, Harry thinks, frowning. They agreed on it.

When Matty meets his eyes and quirks an eyebrow Harry grins. “I got you something,” he says, rolling again and reaching into one of the bags he’d brought with him, pulling out a heavy leather jacket and tossing it onto Matty’s stomach.

“What’s that?” Matty asks, laughing and picking it up by the collar. “You got me this? This is designer, mate.”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs. It’s partly true. Jamie’s actually the one who bought it thinking it was for Harry, but it’d look better on Matty anyway. Leather wasn’t really Harry’s thing.

“What d’you do, pout your lips and say you’re cold and presto, you’re being showered in Givenchy?”

Harry grins, sitting up and watching as Matty does the same and pulls the jacket on. “Something like that,” he admits. There was a fair amount of pouting and maybe something about being cold and losing his favorite coat, which was true, but then he saw the leather jacket and remembered how Matty’s was more hole than actual leather these days, and, well.

“Mm,” Matty holds his cigarette between his lips and looks down at himself, arms out. “What you think?”

“You look good.” 

Good is a bit of an understatement where Matty’s concerned. The jacket fits him perfectly, framing his bare chest while his long legs stretch out in front of him, wrapped in skin tight black jeans. It’s definitely a good look, and the warmth creeping up the back of Harry’s neck is only half due to the expensive wine Jamie had plied him with at dinner. 

It was more wine than dinner, actually, and Harry’s starved and the curry he brought home smells so good, but Matty’s smirking and cupping his hand over the back of Harry’s neck, drawing him in, and Harry gets a mouthful of smoke when they kiss. Matty always tastes a little bit like an ashtray so Harry’s used to it, puffs it out between their lips and leans in, opening his mouth for Matty’s tongue. Harry probably tastes like Jamie, so he doesn’t have a lot of room for complaints.

When Matty leans back onto his elbows Harry follows, tucks his knees together and crowds over him. He sucks Matty’s bottom lip into his mouth and cups his hands over his cheeks, feels it in his elbows when Matty laughs.

“So who was it tonight?” he asks, popping the buttons on Harry’s shirt, starting from his throat. 

“Producer,” Harry answers, throwing one leg over Matty’s waist to straddle him. “Didn’t have time to get me off before he had to go home.”

“Of course.”

Harry’s already shrugging out of his coat and shirt when it’s halfway unbottoned, rocking back so he’s sitting right atop Matty’s dick. “Had to get home to his soon to be husband,” he says, rolling his eyes. Jamie’s nice, and Harry generally tries not to judge the men who take him out, but…

“What a cunt,” Matty says, hips rolling up to meet Harry’s as he finishes the rest of the buttons and gets it all out of the way. Harry just shrugs, biting down into his lip when he feels the hard line of Matty’s cock against his ass.

“Jamie’s nice,” Harry says. Like that makes the fact that Harry had his dick in his mouth while his fiance waited at home any better. He tugs on Matty’s new jacket. “He got you this.”

“Thank him for me, then.” 

Harry’s got height and weight advantage and Matty still gets him on his back in a second flat, rolling them so he’s pressed right up between Harry’s legs and holding himself up with his hands on Harry’s knees. He looks like every filthy rock star fantasy Harry’s ever had, his hair shaved at the sides and greasy, falling into his face, leather jacket and tattoos standing out on his pale skin. “True Love” painted on his chest because he believes in shit like that, like he wouldn’t be the type to step out on his soon to be husband or wife for a younger mouth. Or maybe he would — that’s more rock and roll. 

It’s a bit of a shame when Matty loses the jacket, and he groans a little bit, watching it fall to the floor with a mournful look on his face.

“I’ll fuck you in it next time,” Matty laughs, always obliging and humoring Harry’s little quirks. “When it’s not a fucking furnace in here.”

“There’s a party later,” Harry says, lifting his hips helpfully when Matty goes for his zip and tugs at his jeans. “Some club near Peel Park, we could go. You could fuck me in the loo, jacket on.”

“Yeah?” Matty looks down at him, amused, curling his hand around Harry’s cock and stroking him tightly. Harry’s breath hitches and he swallows, tilting his head aside so Matty can lick his neck. 

He nods, sucking in a breath. “Yeah, or— fuck, the alley or whatever. Outside, jeans up—”

Matty pulls back, eyes still filled with laughter as he reaches down to cup Harry’s balls, squeezing gently. “Do you just wanna talk about fucking or do you actually wanna fuck?” 

“Yeah yeah, alright,” Harry surges up to catch Matty in another kiss, tongues meeting in the middle while Harry fumbles at his belt and zipper. He makes quick work of getting Matty’s trousers open and dips his hand inside, the harsh angle making it difficult to do more than press his palm along the length of his dick.

Matty pushes him onto his back and moves away, standing up while Harry stretches along the length of the bed and watches him peel out of his jeans. The new tattoo on his hip is big and Harry still doesn’t really know what it is, so he draws himself up onto his knees to get a better look. 

“Is it a flower? What does it say?” 

There’s not enough light for Harry to make it out. It’s gray and wet outside the window and they’ve just got the one floor lamp, and Matty hisses and jerks back when Harry presses his thumb and index finger around the plastic to stretch the skin out.

“Sorry,” he amends, touching his fingertips to Matty’s hips and drawing him forward. The tattoo is big enough that the plastic covers his entire left hip to his navel — it’s kind of a shame about the trail of hair that had been there — so Harry sets his lips across his right hip and down, pulling a bit of skin between his teeth and sucking hard. 

A hand snakes into his hair and pushes him down, and Harry gets the hint, wraps one hand around the base of Matty’s cock and licks over the head, eyes flicking up to make sure he’s got a captive audience. He does; Matty’s chin is tucked securely against his chest as he watches Harry swallow him down, and the light may be low but Harry can swear he sees his eyes roll back in his head when he hits the back of his throat.

This is what he’s good at, why he can get older men to buy him nice things and pay his phone bill, why he can get Matty Givenchy leather jackets. Modesty doesn’t live here; there’s no room for it with his mouth stuffed full of cock, anyway. Matty’s fingers tighten in his hair and Harry crosses his eyes, earning himself a snort and a cheeky tug on one of the curls falling in his face.

He does have to pull off for a breath, and when he does he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and clears his throat. “You sure you don’t want to put the jacket back on?”

Matty groans, pushing hard at Harry’s shoulder while he laughs and falls back onto his elbows. Well, it was worth a shot. 

“On your knees,” Matty tells him, finding the lube and condoms under the mound of shopping bags and tossing them next to Harry. Harry pouts, scooting over and climbing slowly to his knees, “You never look me in the eyes anymore, baby.”

“Mhm.” Matty lands a smack on the back of Harry’s thigh and Harry jolts, landing face first into a pillow and smothering a pleased laugh. 

The next sound is more of a startled squeak when Harry gets a healthy bite right on the meaty part of his ass — well, meatiest. He’s got more than Matty, anyway. He wiggles his knees further apart and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows up, and Matty snarls with Harry’s flesh still caught between his teeth. 

Harry laughs, pressing his face back into the pillow. “You’re an idiot,” he tells a faceful of goose down. 

“Mm, dirty talk is your greatest skill,” Matty tells him. 

There’s a great deal of shifting about going on behind him before any real action happens, and Harry’s already sighed and rolled his eyes by the time he feels lube drizzle down between his cheeks, cold and wet. Matty’s finger follows soon after, pressing against him and spreading the slick around before pushing in, quick and deft. As far as greatest skills go, Matty’s are probably talking himself out of bad situations and talking himself into people’s beds, but the work he does with his hands are a close third. He opens Harry up just how Harry likes it, relentless and sure, adding a second finger and shoving in deep to stretch him out. Harry groans, body rolling with it, muscles straining as he digs his hands into the pillow and lifts himself up, back bowing.

“Could do with- _ah,_ ” Harry gasps, knees wobbling as Matty twists his fingers harshly, “with getting fucked now, I think.”

“Have you been gagging for it all night?” It’s kind of a filthy question but Matty asks it so casually, pinching the skin where Harry’s ass curves into his thigh, that Harry has to drop his head onto the pillow and breathe very carefully. “Hoping your sugar daddy will get you off if you smile pretty enough, act grateful enough, or summat? Guess it’s good for me he leaves you high and dry all the time.” 

Matty’s fingers disappear and Harry’s breath hitches at the abrupt emptiness. “That’s—” there’s the rip of the condom wrapper and the hard outline of a cock sliding between his cheeks, and his voice breaks mid sentence, “wildly inaccurate.”

But it’s not far off.

Matty hums, sounding unconvinced. “Elbows,” he instructs, and Harry slides down accordingly just as he feels the first blunt pressure as Matty rocks forward.

He grabs the pillow and hugs it to his chest, huffing a little when he feels Matty wipe his slick fingers on the back of his thigh before grabbing his hip and holding him steady. The build up is nice and all, Harry likes a good taking care of like the next guy — probably more than the next guy, if he’s honest — but Matty hadn’t been far off when he said Harry was gagging for it all day. Teeth sunk into his bottom lip he pushes back, trying to shove himself onto Matty’s cock, and his whimper and Matty’s hiss mix in the air when his body opens up around him.

Behind him Matty curses, which Harry totally gets, because yeah, _fuck._ Matty’s not the biggest guy Harry’s ever been with, not even the biggest guy he’s with fairly regularly, but he’s thicker than two fingers and he knows how to fuck. Knows how to fuck Harry especially, drives in deep and slow at first, the drag making Harry twist his hands up in the pillow and screw his eyes up tight. Knocks the breath right out of Harry’s chest when he slams in with quicks snaps of his hips and doesn’t let up until the moans tumbling out of Harry’s mouth are half choked and cut off. 

He gets a hand between his legs and gives his cock a tight squeeze, desperate to keep from coming so soon when Matty’s fucking him so well. Most of the time Matty’s really good at getting Harry off first, and Harry can tell when he’s getting close, when he drags his hand up Harry’s back and digs into his shoulder, pulling him back on his cock as his hips stutter.

“Fuck, Matty— shit,” Harry manages, pushing back to meet Matty’s thrusts. He starts fucking his own fist when he feels Matty’s teeth bite down on his shoulder, and it’s a mournful day for the 1200 thread count Millesimo duvet that he got while dating a footballer for a few months when he spills over his fist and all over the Egyptian Cotton. He’s still riding it out when Matty fucks in deep and holds himself there, heavy against Harry’s back and fingers digging hard right below his ribs. 

It kind of hurts, actually, and Harry squirms a bit under his weight until Matty shifts up and away and he can catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he says again, trying to kick the duvet away with jellied legs. He ends up falling right into the wet spot and Matty starts snickering behind him, sounding winded and giggly like he always does after coming.

He manages to get the duvet mostly off the bed and make a nest of pillows to flop into belly-first, peeking up with one eye open as Matty nearly trips over the bags and kicks out at them in retaliation. 

“Careful,” Harry says, voice muffled by his forearm. It’s sweaty. Everywhere is sweaty, and Harry is warm and sticky and aching just right. “There’s a new IPhone in one of those bags.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The plastic covering Matty’s tattoo is peeling off from the top corner and his hair looks like it’s just gone through a tornado, there’s a bright red flush all down his neck and chest, and his cock, now rid of the condom, is flagging sad and limp. Harry laughs through his nose.

“Yeah, but it’s mine,” he warns. “So don’t fucking touch it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mate. You worked so hard for it.” Matty’s pushing his hair out of his face and digging through the takeaway containers instead. 

As if on cue Harry’s stomach growls, like it’s trying to warn an intruder away from its territory. “Bring it over here, I’m starved. I don’t need it heated.”

“I’m going to eat the curry off your arse,” Matty says.

“Mmm,” Harry hums, burrowing further into his dragon’s den of pillows. “If you’re gonna start on about eating things out of my arse could you put the leather jacket back on? Thanks.”

He lets his eyes slip shut for a moment, still sort of basking his quiet, just-fucked glow, and feels the bed dip slightly when Matty comes back. The comfortable silence is broken with an indignant squawk the very next second when he feels the cold, wet slap of something that’s definitely just been in a takeaway container land on what is unmistakably his ass.

**Author's Note:**

> title so called because that's what matty's [tattoo](http://25.media.tumblr.com/3764270155adb3afd1898418d51aa2cf/tumblr_n3arqj392F1qfep4co1_500.jpg) says. hey follow me on [tumblr](http://crucio.tumblr.com) if you'd like!!


End file.
